The Heartstone Blade (The Dark Ability Book 2) (24 page)

R
siran awoke
with his head pounding. For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was. Pain pierced his skull like a hot lance. He tried to move but couldn’t.

He lifted his head. Soft blue light glowed near one corner like the lantern Jessa had found in the warehouse. Something gripped his arms, encircling his wrists and ankles, pinning him painfully to the wall.

Nausea washed over him. Where was he? A steady rocking told him he must still be on the ship, but this didn’t look like any place he’d seen. How long had he been unconscious? Moments? Hours? Long enough to chain up. But how had Shael surprised him like that?

He needed to get away. Could he Slide out of the restraints? He’d never tried anything like it before, but he didn’t know why it wouldn’t be possible.

Just a short Slide. Just enough to escape. Then he could return to Elaeavn and get Brusus and… then what? Still not know where Josun had taken Jessa?

He would have to return to Firell. But he’d be ready.

Rsiran tried to Slide and couldn’t. It was as if the ability had been taken from him.

Unlike the barriers around the palace or Asador, rather than pushing him back, it felt as if he simply could not start the Slide.

He was trapped.

Hopelessness different from what he had ever known when working in the mines settled into him. At least there, he had known he could always escape. He might not have been willing to use his ability, but there had always been the sense that he could Slide away if needed.

Now… there was nothing.

And worse than that. He had failed Jessa.

A
door creaked
, the sound barely more than the sound of the ship groaning as it moved. Rsiran hung in place, dark thoughts the only thing keeping him company. He had drifted, losing time. No one had come to see him.

Now soft footsteps thumped along the floor, moving steadily.

Rsiran should be scared but did not have the energy needed to fear what came next. What energy remained, he needed keep in reserve to help save Jessa.

And he recognized the gait. The steady sound of boots across the wood, the lumbering steps. Without looking, he knew who he would see, so he did not lift his head. There seemed no point in looking at Shael again.

“I be knowin’ you’re awake there, Rsiran.” In spite of what he did, his voice had some of the friendly lilt to it that he’d always had.

Rsiran worked the thick sense of cotton off his tongue. “Why did you let him take Jessa?”

“Don’t be knowin’ that he’d take the girl. A damn shame that he did. You won’t believe this now, but I do be likin’ her more than most your kind.”

His kind. Is that what drove Shael? “What do you want with me?”

Shael stepped in front of him. The scent of his sweat mixed with grease. He grabbed Rsiran’s chin with a vice grip and lifted his face. “Same as I always wantin’, though you never make that forge that I ask.”

Rsiran blinked, confused. “Forge?”

Shael laughed softly. “Never figure out that schematic?” He leaned forward. “Guess you didn’t, else you wouldna gone to the alchemists, now would you.”

Rsiran’s mouth felt thick. “What did you do to me?”

Shael released Rsiran’s face. His head lolled back down, and he didn’t have the strength to fight.

“I do know ’bout your ability, Rsiran. No one travels that I don’t know ’bout.”

Through the thickness in his head, it took a few moments for Rsiran to understand what Shael was saying. “You feel it?”

Shael stepped away. His boots scuffed along the ground softly. “S’pose you’d call it an ability. I never met any others with it. Jus’ know when you be steppin’ all over Elaeavn.” His eyes took on a strange tilt. Was there a faint hint of green there? “And farther.”

Rsiran managed to turn his head enough to where he could see Shael. He stood looking out a small, barred porthole. “Why are you doing this?”

Shael tapped on one of the bars and then turned. “Why you think, Rsiran? Why do I be doin’ anything I do? There’s coin in it.” He sniffed out a soft laugh. “And with that one, plenty of coin.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Long enough to know he pays. Not everyone pays, you see.”

“You mean Brusus? Is that why you took me?”

Shael laughed again. “Brusus do be a tough one. Smart, just like this other, just not quite smart enough. Mos’ of the time he be paying on time.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Not what I be wantin’. It’s what you be wantin’.”

“I just want Jessa. Bring her safely back to Elaeavn.” He didn’t care about anything else. Brusus and his plots could be damned for all he cared. Even Josun could wander if he left them alone. All Rsiran wanted was Jessa back safely. He would do practically anything to see her safe again.

“There no be safety in Elaeavn, Rsiran. Never been, not for a long time. That be somethin’ Brusus do keep from you. Thinks he can protect you, he does. But he knows the truth. Haern, too, though he got a different view. Comes from livin’ like he did. Things he saw and did.” Shael pushed himself away from the bulkhead and stood near him again. “You do be knowing about Haern?”

“Brusus only tried to help me.”

Shael snorted. “Brusus do be a fool. And that’s goin’ to get him pinched.”

“Why has Brusus been a fool?”

Shael laughed softly. “Brusus don’ know he be playing in a game bigger than him. Only now, it’s too late for him to understand. Now we got you and your girl. You’ll be doin’ what we need without him interferin’.”

A bigger game. The rebellion. The exiled Elvraeth. Forgotten.

“Doing what?”

Shael stepped toward him, and Rsiran caught the glint of light off of metal. A distant part of him recognized it as one of the cylinders that they’d found in the crate in the warehouse.

“Gonna help me find the rest of these, too, you are.”

“Brusus has them. Why don’t you go get them from him—”

Shael tapped him on the cheek with the open palm of his hand. So much like his father had slapped him.

And just like then, he couldn’t do anything.

Rsiran swallowed. His throat felt thick and dry in a way it hadn’t since he had been forced to work the Ilphaesn mines. And there, working at mining all day, his body ached from a day of hard work rather than the beating he’d experienced. At least in the mines, he’d been able to Slide. At least when his father had mocked him, he’d been able to escape.

“Why can’t I Slide?”

Shael laughed and stepped out of sight. Rsiran’s arm suddenly jerked, pulled as if Shael meant to tear it from his socket.

“For someone from Lower Town, you do be so sheltered. Probably not your fault here. Not sure even your Brusus do be knowin’ about these. Elvraeth like their secrets.”

Elvraeth then. After what Della told him about the Elvraeth, and what Josun had alluded to the last time they’d met, he should not be terribly surprised, but finding something that could physically restrain him, that could prevent him from using his ability still felt strange. Did the Elvraeth have the same for other abilities? Could they wear something that prevented Reading? Limit Sight? Diminish a Listener? Or did they only fear Sliding?

“What is it?”

Shael stepped back around him. He leaned forward so Rsiran could see his eyes. “Chains. Best you be getting’ used to ’em.”

“Why?”

“Told you back in Elaeavn. You be needed.” He turned away, his feet shuffling across the wood until he reached the door. It creaked open, the sound mixing with the soft groaning of the ship. “Lucky for you that you really do be a skilled smith, Rsiran.”

With that, he left Rsiran alone.

R
siran drifted again
. The steady rocking of the ship lulled him. At least when he slept, he did not feel the pain throbbing in his head. At least then, he was not as aware that he couldn’t Slide. Surprising that after spending so much time wishing for a different ability, now that he couldn’t use it, he missed it as much as he did.

But each time sleep pulled him under, dreams came. Strangely, most of the time, he dreamt about the Ilphaesn mines. The darkness and sense of lorcith all around him. The steady tapping that kept him awake. The pain in his back and neck from the attacks.

Other dreams drifted in. Dreams he couldn’t explain. At times, he felt the distant pull of the alloy. Once he thought it came from the lantern, but he realized what he felt was larger. There was a vastness to it, a sense that he could lose himself were he to listen too long. Floating in the dream as he was, he didn’t care. Let the lorcith pull on him, draw him to it, so the muted sound came louder, closer, until it seemed all around him…

Rsiran jerked awake. His arms and legs hurt. During the awake periods, the dull ache gradually worsened. Much longer, and he would not be able to stand on his own. Then, only the chains would support him.

Shael had not returned. Rsiran lost track of time, the steady rolling of the ship and creak of the wooden planks his only company. Occasionally, he thought he heard voices or footsteps, but they never ventured where he could see them.

In a moment of clarity, he listened for lorcith. If he could only pull a knife or one of his forgings to him, he might be able to work his way free. But there was nothing. As if he suppressed it, pushing the sense of lorcith away.

More than anything, that sent shivers of fear through him. Firell’s ship carried massive amounts of unshaped lorcith. He should feel something. Or even the forgings Firell had taken from him, smuggled onto his ship. Instead, there was nothing.

Had Shael taken him off Firell’s ship? Like Firell, Shael was a smuggler, but Rsiran had never seen his ship. It wouldn’t be impossible to think Shael could have moved him. But he didn’t think so.

That meant that these cuffs somehow blocked his sense of lorcith.

Only… not completely.

As he listened, blocked from everything as he was, he recognized the distant sense of the alloy much as he had when he intentionally pushed away the sense of lorcith.

With lorcith so completely blocked from him, he heard it clearly.

With nothing but the steady creaking of the ship and the constant rolling beneath his feet, he listened. As he did, the sound of the alloy became clearer.

It reminded him of his dream. Muted and steady, and both farther and closer than he’d ever felt before. Almost as if he could simply anchor to it and pull himself. Only, he’d never managed to anchor to the alloy. Even Sliding disturbed the tenuous connection he managed with it.

He tried latching onto it as he did when anchoring, but the sense flickered and faded, disappearing into the blackness of his mind. Almost as if by reaching for it, he pushed it farther away until the sense of it faded.

Rsiran let go. As he did, the muted sense returned.

He remembered sitting in front of the anvil when he’d listened to the lantern. Then he’d almost had an understanding. Had he sat longer—or listened better—he had the sense that he might learn some deep secret.

Instead of latching on, he just listened.

For long moments, he felt nothing. But—slowly, so slowly—awareness came to him, just as it had when sitting and listening in his smithy. And he thought he knew what to do.

This time, Rsiran didn’t reach. He pulled.

Slowly, like a difficult Slide, the sense came closer. Yet it felt nothing like any Slide he’d ever experienced. Almost oozing toward him, the faded sense began to change, shifting into something else. No longer did it seem like it called quietly. Now it filled him.

Different from lorcith. Where lorcith had an eager quality to it, this had an edge. Lorcith sometimes sang to him. This demanded his attention. Lorcith knew it needed him. This knew he needed it.

Rsiran almost let go, but if he did, he suspected he wouldn’t have a chance to listen again.

He knew he should be scared. But chained as he was, locked upright in Firell’s ship, separated from Jessa with no way to help her, at least he no longer felt alone. Whatever the strange sense of the alloy demanded, he would comply.

His breathing eased, and he dropped his head, welcoming the sensation.

Fatigue overwhelmed him, like after an onerous Slide, and he drifted again toward sleep.

R
siran awoke
to the sound of footsteps on wood.

He jerked his head up and turned to see who might be there, only he saw nothing. Even the lantern had been extinguished. Darkness swirled around him, a pure black night so much like the mines. Lorcith burned all around him…

His heart hammered.

Lorcith.

This felt different from the muted sense he’d noticed earlier. That was still there, just at the back of his mind, but he could call on it if he wanted.

For the first time, he felt the chains holding his wrist and ankles, the bars covering the porthole, the lantern across the room. And not muted, but rather as a steady call. As lorcith normally would.

Rsiran probed the alloy encircling his wrists. It felt hot and tight, and scraped the flesh nearly to the bone. Dried blood caked along his arms. Fire burned through his skin, up toward his injured shoulder where it threatened to separate. Through it, he felt the way the chain had been forged, almost as he felt it when his own forgings called to him.

And he knew how it had been made. That knowledge filled him in a way that he never had when working with lorcith. With lorcith, he simply let the ore take him, guide his hammer, and show him what it wanted to become. This was knowledge. The perfect combination of heartstone mixed with heated lorcith. The way to mix it together so the lorcith accepted the heartstone. The technique of shaping the chain in just such a way that when clasped and locked, it prevented Sliding. And the way to trigger the lock.

Boots scraped on wood again. Not in the room, but just outside. A guard, or did Shael patrol?

Rsiran sensed for lorcith. Chained as he was, he still couldn’t feel it. He had the vague sense that if he pushed hard enough, he could almost reach it. Still trapped.

The heavy gait came closer. Almost to the door.

Rsiran pushed on the lock of the chain, not expecting anything to happen. Lorcith only reacted to him when he had been the one to forge it. Only then did he have the connection needed to control it.

The lock clicked.

Rsiran pulled his hand free.

Pain shot through his arm, but he still let out a soft sigh of relief. Acting quickly, he released the other locks. As he did, the sense of lorcith flooded him.

His knives, the unshaped lumps stacked in crates, even the sword in Elaeavn. All filled him as it did when he pushed away the awareness of lorcith. That rebound sense practically filled his mind, nearly staggering him. Yet this felt different. Had the sense always been this strong or had something changed while he’d been separated from it?

The door jiggled. Rsiran couldn’t wait any longer or risk getting caught again.

Needing to know if he could, he Slid forward a step.

There were colors, twisted and bright. The air smelled sharp and crisp. And then he emerged. Relief filled him. Surprisingly, the sense of the alloy remained.

What had changed?

It was a question for another time. Now he needed to reach Firell. Find Josun. And then Jessa.

The chains hung from a hook on the wall. Rsiran examined them. Made of twisted lorcith that slowly spiraled around before reaching the clasps that had held his wrists. The alloy felt different from what he’d encountered so far. He listened to it—doing so no longer felt difficult or muted, no longer did he have to push away the sense of lorcith to hear the alloy—and understood that more heartstone had been used in their making than was used in the lantern, or even the bars covering the porthole. With a forge, lorcith, and heartstone, he could recreate the chains.

The chain came off the hook easily and felt surprisingly light. Coiling it so that he could carry it easily, he slipped it up and over his arm. He removed the leg bindings from the wall and rolled them until they coiled easily to fit into his pocket. He wouldn’t leave these behind to trap someone else.

Then he grabbed the lantern from the floor near the corner. The soft blue glow created just enough light for him to see clearly. He felt the sense of the alloy used to create the lantern. Deeper inside, heartstone burned, creating the pale glow.

With the lantern, at least he wouldn’t be stuck in darkness.

Rsiran Slid.

He emerged from the Slide inside the hold. For the first time, he could see what it held. The sense of lorcith all around him practically overwhelmed him. If he closed his eyes, he would see where each crate rested, where each forging he’d made hid.

His knives were here.

Not the knives that he’d made initially for Brusus. What he wanted were the smaller knives, those that he’d asked the lorcith to let him create. Dropped into one of the crates, he didn’t need the lantern to see that they rested atop a bowl he’d made. They would fit in his pocket, hidden away. And they didn’t take much thought to push.

Or pull.

Rsiran pulled them toward him.

The knives floated up from the crate, and he grabbed them out of the air as they neared. Then he stuffed them into his pocket. A few other knives were here, as well, but he wouldn’t worry about them now. Even the unshaped lorcith, its call so loud in his mind making it so that he had to push it back, would be left behind. If everything went well, he would return for it later.

Then he Slid.

This time, he emerged in Firell’s quarters. The room stood empty. The small trunk where Firell stored his flagon of ale rested on the floor. The lid partially closed. Bed sheets crumpled atop the bed. Blood stained the pillow. A stack of paper rested atop the table. A knife jabbed through one corner, holding them in place. Not lorcith, but finely made.

Rsiran pulled the knife out of the paper and twisted it in his hands. Something about it looked familiar. There seemed a sense of flow to the steel made by the folding of the metal until it tapered to a sharp point. Finely balanced, it was more functional than decorative. He set it aside.

A series of numbers scrawled across the top page. Rsiran studied the page, reading through the tight script along the left side. A logbook, recording lorcith. Weights and quantity of lorcith delivered. But he couldn’t tell where it was delivered to. He folded the sheet and tucked it into his pocket.

He flipped through the other pages. Some were more logs, others were notes. He didn’t have the time to sort through it all. Instead, he took the stack and rolled it, stuffing it alongside the other sheet. When he returned to Elaeavn, he would take more time to read through it. Only when Jessa was finally safe would he care.

The door opened.

He had expected it.

Rsiran looked up. Shael stood in the doorway. Surprise lined his wide face. Eyes narrowed and his arms tensed.

“Don’t know how you be escaping. Felt the traveling, though. Someone come let you out?”

“Where’s Jessa?” Rsiran asked. The anger in his voice surprised him. So, too, did the rage. He would not hesitate to harm Shael if it meant getting Jessa back. The knives thrummed in his pocket, ready for whatever he asked of them.

“Don’t be makin’ me hurt you again, boy.”

Shael lunged.

He moved quickly, but Rsiran anticipated it. As Shael came at him, he Slid and emerged just long enough to grab onto him.

Rsiran pulled him up to the main deck of the ship. He emerged in bright sunlight. The ship rocked gently beneath him, nothing like the angry waves he’d felt before. After all the time he’d spent chained and trapped in the room, nothing but the motion of the waves for company, he did not struggle with his footing as he had initially.

Shael staggered and Rsiran released him. He went sprawling across the deck.

Someone leapt from a rope and landed on the deck with a thud.

Rsiran didn’t turn to see who it was. He didn’t need to. The sense of lorcith flooded him, telling him that the attacker carried a knife, though not one of his. Strange that he should feel it so strongly. Without giving it another thought, he pulled on it and the knife went flying.

He twisted it so that it hung over Shael, tip pointing down toward his throat. And then left it hovering there. The lorcith responded as if forged by his hand.

“Don’t,” he said.

Shael froze. Only then did Rsiran turn.

Firell stood behind him. A large gash lined one cheek. Deep green eyes had reddened around the sides. He looked weary. “You continue to surprise me, Rsiran. No wonder Brusus values you as he does.”

“Someone will tell me what they know.”

As he spoke, he felt people moving about below deck. They carried lorcith on them or else he wouldn’t have noticed. With a pull on the lorcith, a distant moan sounded. And then silence.

“How many others?”

Firell’s eyes narrowed.

“How many!”

“Two more. But they should be sleeping. Had their shift last night.”

“Over by Shael,” he said.

Firell obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed on Rsiran as he made his way toward Shael, careful to give Rsiran a wide berth. “Thought you said he was restrained.”

Shael laughed bitterly. “Thought he be. Don’ know how—”

Rsiran pushed the knife down until the tip rested on Shael’s throat. A spot of blood bloomed where it touched. Shael stiffened but did not move any more.

“You will tell me what you know of Josun Elvraeth,” Rsiran said. “And of the Forgotten.”

“Rsiran—careful with what you ask. There are things you don’t know about, things Brusus has kept from you. Thinks he’s keeping you safe, but really bringing you deeper,” Firell said.

“He’s told me what he knows about the Forgotten. And I don’t care. All I want is Jessa.”

Shael didn’t move. “Aye, boy, but you should.”

Rsiran surveyed the deck, making certain that no one else might attack him. Bright sun hung overhead. A strong sea breeze fluttered the full sails, sending spray up and over the deck as the ship cut through the water. In the far distance, flat land stretched out, sweeping away from the ocean in a field of gold and brown.

Everywhere around him he felt the soft sense of lorcith.

What had happened to him chained in the hold? Had the separation from the lorcith simply made him more aware of it now that he could sense it again, or was it something different? Had something about him changed? And why could he suddenly feel the alloy so sharply?

“Just tell me about Josun.”

Firell sat next to Shael, looking up at him. “You think you will find your girl. I understand that. I’ve been through it myself. But that’s not how his kind works. You’ve got to earn them back. Do their bidding—”

“I tried that once,” Rsiran said. “It didn’t work out for either of us too well.”

“You’re not dumb, boy. Think about what you do be doin’. What this Elvraeth be having you do. Do you really think you be getting the upper hand here?”

“I just want to get her back. Have him leave me in peace.”

Firell pushed himself to his feet. Rsiran turned. One of the knives hidden in his pocket flashed up and streaked toward him. Firell held his hands out in front of him, eyes wide as he stared at the knife. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Rsiran. What Brusus either hasn’t or won’t tell you. And maybe you’ve been sheltered. Most in Elaeavn are. But there isn’t peace—not really—and not where the Elvraeth are concerned.”

“I only care about one of the Elvraeth. He’s the one who took Jessa, the one who thinks to use her to get to me.”

Lying on the deck, knife pointing to his throat, Shael still managed to laugh. “You be thinking you the only one to be used? You do be sheltered, boy!”

Rsiran frowned at Shael and turned to Firell. The knife hung in the air between them, just out of Firell’s reach. Who had Firell lost? How did he understand what Rsiran went through?

Rsiran remembered what he’d overheard. Josun had taken someone Firell cared about as well. And maybe that was the reason Firell helped him smuggle. Wouldn’t Rsiran do the same for Jessa? If there were a chance that he might get her back, wouldn’t he take it?

Except… he knew that he couldn’t trust Josun. He’d been used once already, meant to take the blame for whatever poisoning Josun intended. As much as Firell and Shael might know of the Elvraeth, whatever Josun had over them, Rsiran would do anything to keep away from him.

With a quick pull, he dragged the knives back to him and caught them. The smaller of the two—the one he’d asked the lorcith to let him make, he stuffed back into his pocket. The other he quickly pushed into the band of his pants.

“Tell me, then. Tell me why I’m sheltered.”

Shael pushed up to sit. He rubbed his neck before leaning back against the rail, not making any other attempt to move. Rsiran didn’t trust him not to attack again, but at least he knew to be ready. And now, he suspected he could pull Shael with him. If he had to, he would drop him off the rocks near Ilphaesn.

“What do you know of the Elvraeth?” Firell asked.

“They rule Elaeavn.”

“And before?”

“They were gifted by the Great Watcher with abilities granting them authority to lead.”

Shael laughed softly. “Foolish customs,” he said. “And most you people do be believing them too.”

“Why shouldn’t we believe?” Rsiran asked. He Slid toward him a step, and Shael’s eyes darkened.

Firell only shifted, crossing his legs. He flexed his arms and rubbed at the gash on his cheek. “You think the Great Watcher cares who rules? They might have been gifted more strongly than the rest of us, but what gives the Elvraeth a right to rule?” Firell smiled, his mouth little more than a tight line. “Most never even question. Never question why the Elvraeth exile people from the city. But there are some who know the world is larger than Elaeavn. Who have seen beyond the Aisl and the Lhear Sea. And they know there is more than just the Elvraeth. Gifted by the Great Watcher. Perhaps that is true. Once I believed my Sight was a gift. Once I believed as you do—that the Elvraeth were given their gifts by the Great Watcher. But I see how they use their gifts. How they exile those who compete for power. How they hurt or kill their own people. And now… now that comes back to haunt them.”

“I don’t care about your lectures. Or about who rules—”